


Hairpin

by CloverTheGrand



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Crack, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloverTheGrand/pseuds/CloverTheGrand
Summary: Francis was the only male ballet dancer at Arthur's dance company who kept his hair long, mostly for vanity reasons. Arthur still finds it amusing to watch how much Francis pampers his hair. All those years, Arthur would tease Francis about his hair. But now? Now it was Francis' turn to have the last laugh.
Relationships: England & France (Hetalia)
Kudos: 7





	Hairpin

Francis' vain obsession with his hair was no secret amongst the dancers of Arthur's dance company. It wasn't even a requirement, especially amongst male dancers, but the sheer vanity to keep it at that length. 

Francis’ hair always managed to be this untameable beast that fought against and slipped out the restraints of any hair products he used. It wasn’t uncommon for him to sport a tightly packed hair bun at the start of a rehearsal only for it to slip out into a ponytail and slap whatever poor sod was standing behind him in the face. Because of this, Francis also had the most vigorous and intense hair routine. Francis and his hair products greatly amused Arthur. 

Black, shining hairpins 50 strong would be lined up on a piece of card, ready to risk their lives and battle the beast that was Francis Bonnefoy's hair. Half the hairpins go MIA. Most were tangled into the mess of Bonnefoy’s mane, never to see daylight again. Francis used gallons and gallons of hairspray each morning, so much so that a lavender cloud trailed behind him, sending whoever followed him into a coughing fit, and Arthur swore there was a hole in the ozone layer above the dance studio. Even hair bands were useless— they often break 2 times a month due to the sheer pompous volume of Francis’ hair.

But there is one phrase which sent Arthur into a subconscious laughing fit, the one phrase that turned Francis' hair routine into such an effective farce:

"Excuse me, can I borrow a hairpin?"

"I'm quite sure there's already about a hundred buried in your hair if you dig hard enough," Arthur would routinely pipe up.

Francis would simply roll his eyes and ask for a hairpin nonetheless. On one memorable occasion after a response from Arthur, Francis would excuse himself and ask: "Arthur, mind if I pluck out one of your eyebrow hairs?"

"Why?"

"They're stiff like metal. Makes for good hairpin material!"

Arthur then let Francis and his hair alone for a good three weeks. He’d start up the hair jokes again, of course. 

All those years, Arthur would tease Francis about his hair. But now? Now it was Francis' turn to have the last laugh.

Arthur was cast into the role of an Elven king. Because of this, he was given hair extensions that hung past his shoulders. Which wouldn't be so bad… except that Arthur soon learnt the perils of long hair.

Arthur thought that he could get away with it since his role didn’t need as much movement and that for practice he’ll just tie the hair into a ponytail if it ever got too much.

What Arthur never expected was all the trouble his long hair gave during the stretching routines at the barre. 

He had a feeling that that would be the case, so Arthur gathered his hair into a ponytail. However, even that was not without consequences. First of all, there was the fact that his hair tie kept on falling off. It was horrible. There was also the fact that  _ the sweat made the loose strands of his hair cling everywhere _ . That was even more horrible. However, it did not hit Arthur just how grave the situation was until this happened:

His ponytail slapped the person behind him. 

And so Arthur realised: hair this long could only be dealt with by putting it into a bun. 

Marvellous. Absolutely marvellous. Perhaps if Arthur asked for a hairpin from the ladies after the rehearsal, he could put it into a bun before Francis. However, the poor lass who was slapped by his hair refused to cooperate, and by then, most of the ladies needed to go to their changing rooms. 

It was clear who he had to console with. 

With a great sense of defeat, Arthur approached Francis and mumbled: "Do you have a hairpin?"

And Francis, oh, Francis did a mock gasp, as if he hadn’t been watching the whole rehearsal play out with Arthur’s disastrous hair situation. "What a thatch of hair! Poor you. You probably sacrificed several hundred hairpins into that thicket already, but finding them again would be like digging a needle out of a haystack, would it not?"

“Please? I promise to never insult your hair again.”

“Insult  _ my _ hair?” Francis combed through those blonde locks with his fingers, a sly grin on his face. “Considering your new updo, there’d be no need. It’d be like trying to pollute an ocean with a drop of mud.”

“We get it, you’re craftier at insults than I am.”

“And craftier with how I prepare my hair-”

_ SLAP! _

Francis stared with bewildered eyes. 

“Did you… just slap me with your sweaty, oily ponytail? You heathen!”

And then a malicious idea popped up in Arthur’s head. “You know, Francis, it’s a shame the lass who stands behind me won’t let me stand in front of her anymore. She had to spend the whole session getting slapped by my hair, right in her face. At least I can still stand in front of you, right?”

Francis’ eyes were like saucers. Then he squinted. “Very well.” He walked back to the male changing rooms. "First of all, since your hair is so layered, you’ll need a hairnet for that. I should have one buried in my dance bag somewhere."


End file.
